


for promised joy

by ahtohallan_calling



Series: best laid schemes [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M, about rachel and kristoff, prequel to bls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling
Summary: Prequel to my fic Best Laid Schemes about Kristoff and Rachel's relationship.
Series: best laid schemes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738645
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	for promised joy

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't read bls yet, you definitely need to otherwise you're going to be like "who the fuck is rachel and why do we care" LMAO so here it is: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754125

“C’mon, you’ll love these guys. You’re all into the same nerd shit.”

“How did you even meet them?”

“Interviewed them for the paper,” Sven replies, flopping down onto the faded futon. “More importantly, how have you  _ not _ met them? Aren’t you guys basically the same department?”

Kristoff shrugs, not looking up from his pot of easy mac. “I guess I just spent most of my time in the library or at work.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot I’m your only friend. Thank god you got me for a freshman roommate, eh? What if you’d gotten someone annoying or-- don’t roll your eyes at me, Bjorgman.”

Kristoff shakes his head and returns his full attention to his shitty dinner. “I didn’t come here to make friends.”

“I didn’t know you watched  _ The Bachelor _ !”

“...what?”

Sven groans and flings a throw pillow at his back. “See? This is the shit I’m talking about. You gotta get out more. And this party hardly even counts as  _ out _ , considering half of them are probably gonna be the same people you see in your classes.”

“I’ve made it this far without going to a college party. Don’t see why I’d ruin my streak now.”

“You’re fucking impossible, my guy,” Sven sighs. “You know this hermit shit isn’t going to work out for you when you’re trying to get a job. It’s all networking and who you know.”

The spoon in Kristoff’s hand stills. Sven’s got a point there, one Kristoff himself has been becoming all too familiar with as his senior year kicks off. Anthropology is not exactly a high demand field; without a master’s it’s pretty fucking useless, and even  _ with _ one--

“Fine,” he hears himself saying. “What time?”

“Nine.”

“It  _ starts _ at nine?”

“This is New York, kid,” Sven says drily. “City that never fucking sleeps. Unlike my grandma of a roommate.”

* * *

Sven ditched him almost as soon as they got to the party. Unsurprising, considering his roommate knows  _ everybody _ at NYU. Normally it makes Kristoff feel kind of proud in a weird way, that he can say, “Yeah, my roommate’s the editor of WSN”; in a way it feels like it makes up for his distinct lack of other friends. It’s not that he doesn’t  _ like _ people, or even that he’s a total loner; it’s just a hell of a lot easier to study dead ones than figure out how to talk to living ones. He does okay in classes and at work chatting with people, but he’s turned down so many invitations at this point they’ve stopped coming his way at all.

There’s a heavy sigh beside him, startling him enough that a bit of beer slops out of the can and onto his hand. “Sorry,” comes a cool, amused female voice. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“‘S’alright,” he mutters, though his face is reddening. “I was just...in my head, I guess.”

He dares a glance at his companion and finds himself grateful that it’s her turn in the conversation, because at the moment all coherent thought has ceased to exist in his brain. She’s the kind of pretty you see in magazines, not real life; her dark hair’s so shiny he kinda wants to ask how that’s even fucking  _ possible _ , and her eyes as she looks up at him are so green he gets lost in them for a second and doesn’t understand the question she’s just asked.

“What?” he says, feeling his cheeks darken even further. “Sorry, can you say that again?”

“Ah, sorry, it’s the accent, isn’t it? Always forget with new people, I--”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, not wanting her to feel as awkward as he does, “no, I can understand Glaswegian accents just fine, it’s just--”

She blinks, surprised. “You can tell I’m from Glasgow?”

“I-- yeah.”

There’s a new interest in her eyes; her lips part just a fraction, and his gaze darts down to them for a second. “I just asked your name, anyway. Mine’s Rachel.”

“Kristoff,” he says, quickly sticking out a hand and immediately regretting it.

Rachel smiles and shakes it anyway. “How’d you learn to tell your Scottish accents apart, eh?”

“Anthropology major. Focused on British studies.”

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? How’d you land on that?”

Kristoff sighs and runs his hand through his hair and remembers too late there’s still a bit of beer on it. “You know. Twelve year old kid sees  _ Braveheart _ , goes through a phase, never really grew out of it.”

Rachel laughs and sets a hand on his forearm, and just that contact is enough to take his breath away. “You’re funny, Kristoff.”

“Am I?”

Her lips curl up into a smile. “And modest, too. I’m glad I decided to come to this party after all.”

* * *

Suddenly he starts seeing Rachel everywhere; turns out his minor in museum studies is her major, and they’ve got two classes together. They get a study group together that meets twice a week, and on nights when they end after dark he walks her home, even though it’s in the opposite direction of the subway station he needs. And after he mentions he works at a Starbucks just off campus, suddenly he starts seeing her there, too, and if he goes to a couple more parties that semester-- well, Sven was right about the networking thing, so it just makes sense to go, doesn’t it?

Even if he inevitably spends the whole night only talking to her. Or, well, honestly he mostly listens; there’s always a crowd around Rachel-- it’s a miracle, really, that he got any time alone with her at all that first night they met. 

But she always asks  _ him _ to walk her home afterwards, and one night in October after he’s given her his jacket they stop on her front step, and, instead of fumbling in her purse for her keys, Rachel turns and looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with a light he’s never really seen before.

“Kristoff?” she asks, a vague hint of amusement dancing in her tone.

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?”

He blinks, stunned. “Do you want me to?”

“Why do you think I keep asking you to walk me home or have extra study sessions or-- or anything?”

“I...sorry. You know I’m...how I’m...not good with people and things, Rach, I’m sorry, I just--”

She leans up on her toes and sets her hands on his shoulders. “Kris.”

“Sorry,” he whispers again.

“Stop apologizing and kiss me.”

He does, and  _ shit _ , he really wishes he’d done this sooner.

* * *

Rachel, it turns out, has an apartment to herself, and it’s not even a  _ studio _ . She drinks the kind of coffee you grind yourself, and she does barre class three times a week, and she’s got an internship at MoMA, and  _ all _ of her groceries are from Whole Foods, even the ordinary shit like toilet paper.

So honestly, it makes sense that he starts spending more time there than at his own apartment; she’s never said as much out loud, but he knows it’d just embarrass them both for her to sit in his ripped armchair and eat easy mac off a TV tray. Sven, for his part, is fucking  _ ecstatic _ that Kristoff’s finally doing  _ something _ besides working or studying or sitting around with him playing Mario Kart.

“Proud of you, man,” he says each time Kristoff leaves for another study date, clapping him on the back. “Bring her over so I can meet her sometime, eh?”

“Sure, sure,” Kristoff promises. “Maybe next time.”

He does mention it once, when he’s calling her as he runs from class to his shift at Starbucks. “Rach, babe, I’m sorry, I just, like-- there’s a protest or something shutting down the public transport, so I’d have to walk after work, and I’d barely have time to study. Could you just meet me at mine?”

There’s an awkward silence. “I...guess. It’s just...well.”

Kristoff frowns. “Well...what?”

“It’s just...I like it being just the two of us, you know? I think you’ll study better at mine. It’s not that far of a walk from Starbucks, right?”

It’s half an hour, and it’s supposed to rain tonight. But they have a test tomorrow, and he promised to help her since she missed some lectures and needs to look at his notes, and he doesn’t want to let her down, and so he says, “Sure, Rach, that’s fine.”

* * *

Turns out she was right; they both get A’s on the test, and to celebrate they order in Italian food from some place she loves. Thankfully he’s just gotten his paycheck, so he can treat her like she deserves and cover the whole bill, dessert and all. 

After they eat they sprawl out together on her sofa and put on some movie that won a bunch of Oscars, but neither of them are really paying attention, not when she’s straddling his lap and running her hands through his hair as she kisses him. “Kris?” she says softly as she pulls away for a moment, her nose still brushing against his.

“What?” he murmurs, his hands skating up and down her sides.

“Do you remember how I had to ask you if you were ever going to kiss me?”

He does, and he blushes at the memory. “Yes.”

She lets her hands slide down from his hair to settle against his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. “Are you ever going to...do other things?”

He swallows hard, the stirrings of want that had already been lit within him roaring into a full-fledged flame. “Do you want me to?”

The way she kisses him after that is all the answer he needs.

* * *

Kristoff’s been dreading Christmas break for a while now; they spent more time in bed than out the week of Thanksgiving, but this time around she’s going home to Glasgow for the month. He’s gotten used to spending all his free time with her, and already he knows it’s going to leave a weird vacuum in his life for the next few weeks.

It’ll be nice, though, to be home again. Despite the nearly four years he’s spent in New York, he’s never really gotten used to all the noise and smells and  _ people _ , and he knows it’ll be good for him to be back in Maryland for a few weeks where the only people he has to talk to are his mom and his army of relatives, most of whom make him look like a social butterfly.

He goes all the way to the airport with Rachel and carries both of her suitcases while she does the final check in shit on her phone. He walks her all the way to security, feeling like a lost puppy dog as she turns and looks up at him. 

“The time’ll fly, Kris, I promise,” she reassures him. “You’ll be so busy finishing your grad school apps you won’t even think about me at all.”

“I’ll think about you the whole time,” he insists. “And it’s not like we won’t FaceTime and shit.”

“Well, the time difference will be weird and all, but...yeah, yeah, of course.”

His heart’s beginning to pound. Already he’s been sitting on this, waiting for the right time, but suddenly it feels like now or never, and he blurts out, “I love you, Rachel.”

Her eyes soften as she leans up to kiss him. “Aw, Kris. I’m gonna miss you so much.”

It’s not until he’s halfway back home that he realizes between the kisses and the goodbyes that she never said it back. It’s fine, though; he’s sure she meant to. Probably, like him, she didn’t even realize til now at least, or maybe not at all. He’ll just tell her again next time they talk on the phone, and then she’ll say it back, and it’ll be fine.

He says as much when he comes back to the apartment, and for the first time since they’ve known each other, Sven doesn’t have much to say.

  
  


* * *

She does say it back on Christmas Eve. “I love you,” Kristoff says softly as he gets ready to hang up, just like he has the last couple of weeks. 

“You, too,” she says, and the screen goes black.

He texts Sven about it right away.  _ I told you she was just kind of nervous about it _ , he says triumphantly.  _ But it’s all good now _ .

_ did she actually say it tho? or was it like an “ily” text _

_ I said I loved her and she said “you, too”. _

It takes Sven nearly an hour to reply. When it does come through, Kristoff frowns at his phone, puzzled as to why his best friend of all people isn’t getting how big of a deal this is for him.

_ idk man i just think you deserve more than that _ .

Maybe it’s because they haven’t met yet. Sven doesn’t understand how perfect they are for each other, how lucky Kristoff is to have found someone who wants the same things in life he does, someone who doesn’t care that he’s quiet and awkward and studious, someone who’s  _ miles _ out of his league in every way. He got lucky finding someone so perfect for him. He’s not throwing this chance away over a little detail of semantics.

_ It’s fine. When you meet her, you’ll see how good we are together, I promise. _

_ yea maybe ur right. anyway gotta do presents now. merry xmas eve _

Kristoff stares at his phone for a minute before tossing it onto his bed and heading for the kitchen to help his mom with the cookies. Something about Sven’s response doesn’t sit right with him; isn’t your best friend supposed to be happy about this shit?

_ Whatever _ , he thinks as his mom hands him a rolling pin and tells him to get to work.  _ We’ll talk about it after break. He’ll understand better when I explain in person. _

* * *

Rachel’s the first one to get an acceptance letter. “University of London!” she cheers, flinging her arms around Kristoff’s neck as he spins her around until they’re both dizzy.

It’s her third choice, but it’s something. They celebrate with a bottle of champagne and shower sex and sushi afterwards to recoup their strength.

“I hope I hear something soon,” Kristoff says as he pours more soy sauce onto his plate. “If not from them, at least from  _ someone _ .”

She’s quiet for a minute, even after she finishes chewing on a piece of tuna. “Kris, I know it’s early to talk about this, but if you don’t get in…what are we doing to do?”

He opens his mouth to say something about working for a year and trying for an entry-level job or something, but then it hits him-- she didn’t say  _ you _ .

“Um,” he says, unsure what answer she wants. “Long distance?”

Her eyes are...sad, he thinks. She’s hard to read sometimes, especially for someone as shit as people stuff as he is. “Do you really think that’d work?”

He shrugs and stabs at a piece of sushi. Neither of them talks for a while after that, not until the dishes are cleared and she slips her arms around his waist and whispers, “Round two?”

* * *

“But I thought we agreed long distance wouldn’t work,” is Rachel’s first response when Kristoff calls to tell her he got into Oxford after all. “So that’s why we’re both going to London instead, right?”

Sven sees the expression on his face across the living room and heaves out a sigh. He’s met Rachel a couple of times by now, and despite Kristoff’s best efforts, they haven’t really clicked. It sucks that the two people he’s closest to in New York can barely hold a conversation, but it’s whatever; they’ll grow into it, surely.

“Right?” she asks again, and he realizes he hasn’t answered.

“Right,” he agrees, pushing the acceptance letter aside. “Yeah, I just...wanted to let you know I got in. Even though it’s not, you know, where I’m going to go.”

“Good for you,” she says, a funny tone in her voice, and he winces; maybe telling her was the wrong thing to do after she got a rejection notice from Oxford and Cambridge both last week.

“But it doesn’t matter,” he adds quickly. “Because we’ll be in London together.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she sighs. “Gotta go, Kris, someone’s calling me. Love you, bye.”

The moment he sets the phone down, Sven gets to his feet and comes over. “Bro, you can’t seriously be telling me you’re turning down Oxford for her. It’s fucking  _ Oxford _ .”

“It’s fine. U of L is great, too.”

“But it’s-- it’s--  _ shit _ , man,” Sven sputters. “I just Googled it while you guys were talking, and it’s only like, an hour away by train. That’s not even long distance.”

“A relationship is hard work sometimes. You have to-- to compromise and shit.”

“ _ Yeah, _ but you don’t compromise on big shit.”

“How would you know?” Kristoff snaps, knowing full well he’s being unfair, but there’s something bitter and unpleasant roiling in his gut, and he’s not sure why, so he may as well blame it on the nearest target. “Have you ever even been in love with someone?”

“Fuck you,” Sven says, but there’s no real anger behind it, just something that sounds too much like disappointment as he tosses his empty beer can towards the trash and heads for the door.

* * *

He hardly sees Sven for a few weeks after that; they’re both too busy with senior projects and internships and work even before you add in Rachel or the newspaper to the mix.

It finally happens, though, when the fire alarm goes off at three A.M. and they shuffled downstairs with everyone else to stand in the mid-February cold. Sven doesn’t look at Kristoff when he says, “I just want you to be happy, man. And I feel like you aren’t.”

“I  _ am _ happy,” Kristoff insists. “I’m dating a girl who’s way out of my league, and I’m gonna get to study in the UK like I always wanted, and then, like...I mean, she’s Scottish, so I can stay my whole life, you know? What is there to not be happy about?”

Sven doesn’t reply until the firemen give the all clear and they’re heading back up the stairs to the sixth floor. “Don’t get mad at me this time, man, okay? Because I’m not trying to piss you off.”

A pang of guilt flashes through him. “I won’t.”

Sven sighs. “It’s just...I mean, she’s pretty, and she likes the same stuff as you, but...what else is there to it? There’s other pretty girls out there who like museums. Why this one?”

The answer is so obvious, for a minute Kristoff wonders if it’s a rhetorical question, but then Sven stops at the door, waiting for an answer, and so he shrugs and says, “Because she likes me.”

“Does she, though?”

It’s too late-- early?-- for this shit. Kristoff scrubs at his face with his hand. “Yeah. She says she loves me, and she was all worried about us not going to school together. And we hang out all the time and...yeah. Of course she likes me.”

Sven doesn’t seem to fully accept that answer, but he nods anyway and lets it slide. Later that night, Kristoff stares at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the sounds of the city outside his window, and wonders why it had felt like he was trying to convince himself, too.

* * *

Graduate school is, by far, the hardest thing he’s ever done. Thank  _ fuck _ he’s got a girlfriend going through the same thing to keep him focused. It’s a hell of a lot easier to keep up with all the reading when he remembers she needs his help with it, too.

“I just have a hard time  _ getting _ it sometimes,” she says one afternoon as she sniffles and leans against his shoulder. “So you telling me about it helps  _ so _ much, Kris. You’re the best.”

His chest swells with pride. “That’s what I’m here for.”

It doesn’t hurt that every time she does well on a paper the celebration involves going to their favorite sushi place and spending hours afterward in bed showing her just how proud he is. 

(Her bed, not theirs; he stays over at least three times a week, but it’s putting too much pressure on the relationship if they actually lived together, and the way she explains it convinces him. They’ve got time, anyway; Kristoff’s known the whole time that she’s The One. No point in rushing the rest of his life.)

There’s a part of him, sometimes, that feels a little weird about it, though, how he makes such a fuss over her grades and hides his own. He knows he’d feel like a dick if he told her that he’s getting high enough marks the professors are already suggesting a PhD to him and hinting there’d be an adjunct spot for him as soon as he’s done with this degree. She’s already been weird enough about him getting academic scholarships and the TA job she wanted; no point in piling on, not when he knows it’d hurt her.

So he celebrates her eighty percents and hides his ninety-fives, and they’re happy, both of them, really.

  
  


* * *

Even with enough scholarships and TA work to cover tuition, Kristoff’s a part-time student on the two-year track so he’s still got time to work at Starbucks on the side. Rachel’s lucky; her dad owns some huge construction company in Glasgow, so she’s able to study full time. Kristoff isn’t worried about it until she starts talking more and more about going back to Edinburgh to work at one of their museums. The old conversations about long distance haunt him more than he’d like to admit; surely, though, now that it’s been two years it’s different. They can find a way to make it work, right?

It turns out he needn’t have worried. The jobs in Edinburgh fall through one by one, and though he feels guilty as hell for it as Rachel sobs in his arms, he’s relieved nothing’s going to take her away from him just yet. She’s so out of his league it’s not even funny, all beauty and poise and charm and brilliance, and he knows if he loses her-- well. As awkward and boring as he is, he’d be lucky to find someone else at all.

He’s glad they can joke about it, at least. Rachel doesn’t bother asking him to go to parties with her, knowing he’d just find a way to ruin it for her while being miserable himself. “It’s adorable, really,” she teases him one night as he zips her dress up. “How you’re so good with chatting with me and not anyone else. You always have been. I really love that about us, Kris, how I’m the only one who can pull that part out of you. It’s like we were made for each other. I’m so glad we ran into each other at that party, aren’t you?”

_ Fuck _ , he’s so grateful for her he can hardly breathe. “Me, too,” he says, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Have fun tonight, yeah?”

She turns and loops her arm around his neck. “Wait up for me?”

He’s got work at six tomorrow morning; she knows that, so it must be important to her that he waits up, right? So he nods and says, “Of course.”

* * *

When it’s slow at work, the conversation tends towards the highs and lows of everyone’s love lives. Kristoff spends most of his time listening, amused by the undergraduate’s antics and drawing hope from the older people’s stories of happy marriages.

One day one of the other baristas-- Macy, she’s still sixteen and starry-eyed about it all-- elbows him and asks, “What about you, big guy? You dating anyone?”

“Uh-huh. We’ve been together two and a half years.”

There’s a low whistle, and he blushes. “Long distance, eh?”

“Nah, she’s from here, but we met in school. Worked out well for me.”

Macy sighs happily. “Are you going to marry her?”

The question takes him by surprise. “Of course I am. It’s been this long together, and we moved here for each other, and-- and we’re great together. We’ve never even fought, isn’t that crazy?”

The younger folks coo over that, but his manager, Steve, raises an eyebrow. “ _ Never _ ?”

Kristoff shrugs. “Guess we’re just really good together.”

Steve shakes his head. “You know I love my Jenny with all my heart, but we still fight even after ten years. It’s good sometimes, I think, to let it out. Be honest with each other, you know? And make up afterwards.”

“We are honest,” Kristoff insists. “We just always agree.”

Steve looks like he wants to say more, but a gaggle of teenage girls comes through the door then, and they all collectively wince and head for the blenders.

* * *

“You know,” Dr. Morton tells him, “I’m serious, Kristoff. I really think there’s a future for you here at the university.”

“I know, but the opportunity to help open this museum...I can’t pass that up.”

Dr. Morton sighs and sits back in her chair. “I understand why you’d think that, but I think you’d be able to snag a curator position easily at a bigger museum if you wanted, especially once you got your doctorate and a few years of teaching under your belt.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think teaching’s for me, anyway. Not good with people.”

“Really? I’ve heard nothing but compliments about your work as a TA.”

That takes him by surprise, and Dr. Morton’s eyes soften. “I just want you to understand that you have options here, Kristoff. I want you to choose what’s right for  _ you _ .”

He thinks for a moment about how proud his mom would be to say there was a doctor in the family, of all the opportunities in London, of how he really  _ does _ enjoy teaching classes, even if he’s not the best at it.

But Rachel’s the one who secured the work for them in Scotland, and Rachel’s the one he wants to live his life with, and so that’s the only option that makes sense.

* * *

He made the decision ages ago, but it’s solidified now that he’s got the ring in hand. Rachel’s already stayed in London nearly a full year after graduating despite only having an unpaid internship, and if that’s not a sign of commitment, he doesn’t know what is. He saves his tips, skips dinners on the nights when Rachel’s not with him, spends his days browsing the internet for upcoming sales.

She’s heading up to SScotland a few weeks before he does so he can TA a couple of summer courses, and he knows he’s running out of chances. Every day he feels a little more nervous about it, because every day it gets closer to them moving together again-- and moving  _ in _ together this time-- it feels a little bit more real, and for some reason even though it’s Rachel, and he’s known her and loved her for three years now, it still scares him.

The night after graduation, he decides; that’s when he’ll do it. He wants the day to be about both of them. On Rachel’s graduation, it was like that, because her whole family came to town, so he spent the night meeting her parents and cousins and all the rest of them, so it’s only fair he tries to do the same for her, especially since she’s been sort of weird again about his grades. It’s gotten harder to hide from her now that he’s top of his class, and he feels guilty about it every time he says something that hints at it and he sees the flash of something that seems like hurt in her eyes.

So today’s about both of them; he even mentions in his speech at the ceremony how he couldn’t have done it without her. He tries to find her eyes in the crowd, but the auditorium’s just too big. No matter; he’s got the rest of his life to look at her.

He takes her to her favorite Italian place that night, orders a whole bottle of wine-- he’s saved for that, too-- and they’re both glowing and smiling and so fucking  _ happy _ by the time dessert comes around that he doesn’t even bother getting on one knee, just slides the box across the table.

She stares at it instead of at him. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She doesn’t, and so he does for her. “I love you with all of my heart, Rach,” he begins. “I couldn’t have done this without you, and I want to spend the rest--”

“ _ Kristoff _ ,” she hisses, “are we really doing this in public?”

He blinks, startled. “Do you want me to-- to try again somewhere else?”

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “No, it’s just I...well. Shit. I don’t know what to say?”

He swallows hard before managing to say, “Well, a yes or no would be nice.”

“Just...put the box away, please. That’s too much...pressure.”

He follows orders quickly, slipping it into his pocket and hoping no one else noticed. “Okay. So…”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, Kris, I’ve been thinking...with all of this, I mean it’s great we’re doing it together, but I don’t know that we need to do it  _ together _ , you know?”

“Um...no? No, I don’t know.”

Rachel leans across the table and sets a hand on his forearm, the way she did the first night they met. “You’re a great guy, Kris, but...I think we just need to take a step back?”

“How...far back?”

Her phone dings. “Look, I...shit, I forgot about something. I gotta go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Before he can say something else, she’s gone.


End file.
